


Deep Blue

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Series: A Stitch In Time [7]
Category: Legacy of Kain
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-18
Updated: 2011-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 02:03:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raziel has gathered his Clan--but the forces of the Rahabim and Melchiahim both stand in his way.  Somehow, he must persuade his brothers to let his Razielim pass without revealing himself.  But Rahab and Melchiah are playing a deep game, and have plans of their own ...</p><p>
  <i>The slightest of the brothers, he was sleek where most of the others were bulky with muscle. But circling Raziel, he seemed like nothing so much as a shark on the hunt.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Ah, Raziel,” Rahab murmured softly, as if to himself, “always the hubrist.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Blue

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of background explanation: this was originally written for a long-running crossover RPG called Multiverse Haven (now sadly defunct). The present scene, however, can be enjoyed as-is. Raziel has returned to the year after his execution, and with the help of Kain's far-younger self, seeks to gather his clan and take them to a safe time.
> 
> Warning: this story is set during the time of Kain's empire, so there may be scenes or references to brutal treatment of humans as slaves/livestock. Such is life in a world where vampires rule ...

Kain crouched low in the thick, warm-scented grass, the heavy-headed stalks flicking against his face in the stirring breeze. _What think you, Raziel?_ he Whispered.

Ahead lay plains still dotted with the man-thick stumps of what were once massive trees. Patches of smaller trees yet interrupted the jagged hills, but the ancient behemoths had long since been felled and dragged down to the shrunken remains of the Great Southern Lake, via one of its many tributaries. But even without the forest, the earth was still rich -- here at the territorial boundaries of the three youngest of Kain’s brood, these plains had soaked in more than their share of spilled blood. The forest primeval had become a temperate pastureland, the grasses golden in the filtered, late summer sun, the scrubby trees already turning crimson.

In the shade of one of those trees, three young Melchiahim sentries clustered miserably, attending poorly to their duties. Kain crouched, well-concealed, just outside of bowshot... but he had the suspicion that even were he to stand and stroll closer, he’d not be spotted. The Melchiahim squinted in the brightness; two played a desultory hand of cards.

Kain could, in his estimation, slaughter them with ease. The problem lay beyond.

The same breeze that rippled golden over the grassland also tossed the pennants that snapped at the apexes of tents -- rows upon rows of tents. Neatly arrayed upon the floodplain, the tents were all of markedly fine fabric, and most of the structures were rather large, ill-suited to a military camp. Some of them were comprised entirely of shining golden silks. They made an odd contrast with the beings that hurried between them upon tasks, or that marched and drilled in a show of strength on the plain -- the elder Melchiahim were often warped beyond all recognition, though some of them seemed very nearly human.... from a distance.

In all, there must have been a thousand armed men there, and many more humans, horses, slaves, smiths, whores.... but it was clear that his action on Raziel’s border had spread Melchiah thin, for the army here was dwarfed by the one that lay near the lake, a mile to the north-east of Kain’s position. There the tents, though lower and simpler, were topped with blue pennants. The sentries around that encampment were considerably more alert.

Between both armies was erected a huge tent, resplendent in both blue and gold. Guard forces from both sides clustered nearby. Scroll-laden scribes entered and left the tent without any real appearance of haste -- evidently the ‘peace treaty’ proceedings had dragged on some time.

Beyond both armies lay the ruins of the Sarafan fortress, its roofs half-caved and its walls riddled with gaping holes.

 _Trust Rahab and Melchiah to be in the one place most inconvenient to me,_ came Raziel's return Whisper, the mental words more than a little sour. _And it looks like they have been encamped for some time._ There was silence for a few moments. _We could cut our way through Melchiah's ranks--he has spread himself overthin, and his clan is the weakest. But ... we would take losses._ What he did not add was that he disliked the thought of slaughtering his brother's clan simply for necessity's sake--especially since the Melchiahim *had* been aiding his Razielim, when and where they could.

Kain nodded slowly. _T’would leave the army’s back exposed, as well._ Even if Raziel knew immediately how to find and access the chronoplast, even if it was undamaged in this era, it would take some time to march men and horses through that single small portal. Once on the other side, it would also take time to rout Moebius’ rabble from this very same citadel, nearly two thousand years earlier. Even if they cut through the Melchiahim now... what would stop these ‘Rahabim’ from taking the Razielim from behind?

Kain twisted his head, gauging the lay of the land. _Phineas and I could engineer a distraction,_ he offered. Kain found the brash elder to be remarkably like-minded, and well-practiced in the kind of hit-and-run guerilla warfare that was likely to be most effective now. Also, Phineas tolerated ‘Masiosare’ remarkably well, which earned him points, in Kain’s estimation.

 _I mislike the thought of dividing our forces at this juncture, even for such a necessary stratagem,_ came Raziel's reply. Not only the probable losses that would be incurred by such a tactic, but also the thought that those troops might well be cut off, and Raziel forced to leave them behind should the battle turn against them ... It was a sacrifice he would make if it were the only way to preserve the clan, but until that point, he chose to find another option.

After a long considering silence, he Whispered, _That center tent. ...with that many guards, it is likely that Rahab and Melchiah themselves are here. If I could parlay with them, obtain safe passage ...._ It was risky. He dared not let either of his brothers know he lived. But perhaps under a disguise ....

That thought brought a low growl to Kain’s lips, though he quickly silenced himself. There was nothing wrong with the Melchiahim sentries’ ears, after all. _Send Anani. Or one of your negotiators, or Tarrant, or I, for that matter. You would put yourself and your men at great risk by walking into this midst of such an encampment, concealed only by a spell you learned not six weeks ago._ Kain would be hard-pressed to maintain a guise amongst so many, and influencing the minds of elder vampires was.... oddly difficult. He knew Raziel had a great deal more raw magical power at his disposal, but power was poor substitute for practice.

There was logic in Kain's words ... yet Raziel shook his head, even knowing Kain could not see it. _None of the others, not even Anani, know my brothers as I do. We only have one chance at persuading them--and I cannot risk that one chance on a lesser envoy. No, I will go--with a suitable honor guard, but I will still go._ In a concession to Kain's concern, he added, _If you wish, I will set an endpoint here, so that I cannot be entrapped._

Aware that he was being placated, Kain allowed himself a flash of long fangs. His sending rumbled with his displeasure. _I do so wish. And I shall accompany y..._ the Whisper fractured as Kain paused. _...brothers?_

 _...damn._ Raziel grimaced at his unwitting slip. But there was no way to take back the words now. _...all of the clan lords are my brothers, Kain. And all of them would recognize *you* in an instant, even as you are. We cannot risk you going._

 _Brothers by bloo..._ but the Dumahim were monstrous, and they were also Kain’s own progeny. According to Raziel, anyway. But how could.... Kain shook his head, grimacing to himself in the tall grass; he had more important concerns at the moment. If a sentry had stumbled over him, Kain might have seemed a mad creature, making faces to himself. _...damnation, Raziel. If you believe the spell of guise would obfuscate your identity sufficiently, then it would mine, as well. I will attend you._ He wanted to see these brothers of Raziel for himself now, too. Kain would even keep his mouth shut whilst there. Probably.

 _... I do not like it, Kain._ Rarely did Raziel truly argue with his too-young sire, but this ... posed far too many risks for his comfort. _Rahab and Melchiah are both elders, and nearly the same in age and power as myself. You are experienced in disguise, but--their perceptions are exceedingly keen and your aura is ... unmistakable._

Kain’s brows drew together. He knew that Raziel could conceal the enormous spread of his aura, the fringes of which could otherwise be sensed from nearly a quarter mile away, though the elder rarely deemed it necessary to make the effort to do so. Kain, for his part, had not the least idea how such a feat might be accomplished. He opened his mouth, then closed it. _How long would be required to learn the concealing of it?_ he asked, aware as well that, should Kain take injury, the taste of his blood might give him away. The spy he and Tarrant had disposed of had known him, in part, by that.

There was a long pause before Raziel's reply. _... I am not sure,_ he finally admitted. It had taken him some time to master the disguising of his aura--but as eldest, he had not exactly had a teacher. _Some fledglings never master it ... others may only take a week or two. For a vampire of your power and skill ... it is impossible to say. But we will need to move soon, regardless, and I do not think the first test of any such guise should be on highly suspicious and perceptive elder clan lords._

Kain sighed, and was silent for a long moment. _Give me... at least two hours, then, to array a strikeforce before you move. If negotiations should proceed unfavorably, we can launch a distraction before warning can be spread to these two armies._

Upon a densely thicketed ridge above the Rahabim camp, Raziel’s destrier, Kafka, sidled a few steps, testing the limits of his loose tethering. He was too well-trained to tug his reins from the twigs where Raziel had looped them -- but there was slack enough for him to reach the tree the elder vampire had climbed for a better view. Irritably, the warhorse snapped at the lowest of Raziel’s limbs.

Yellow teeth skidded off the unyielding steel boot that covered Raziel's chitinous foot, and the elder vampire scowled down at the warhorse. "It is not too late to turn you into mincemeat, you ill-mannered nag," he threatened--though softly, mindful of the Rahabim sentries. Another animal might have cowered under such a glare, or tried to run away. Kafka merely flattened his ears and snaked out his head, trying for another bite.

Yanking his foot out of the way, Raziel refused to be diverted by his mount's antics. _That seems eminently reasonable,_ he Whispered back at Kain, relieved that his sire had agreed to stay behind. _I shall meet you back at our main camp so that we may confer further._

Kain dug his claws into the fibrous bases of the stalks that swayed around him, displeased with the compromise, and yet more displeased with the necessity of making one. He resolved to thoroughly master this skill of concealment, against another such situation in the future. _Understood,_ he replied. In a moment of particular inattention by the sentries just ahead, he vanished, the flash of blue light scarcely noticeable in the golden field.

\-----

Some hours later, dusk had fallen. The moon was rising, bright and clear, over the plain as a disguised Raziel and eight of his Razielim emerged from the treeline and into the full view of the sentries. There were shouts as they were spotted almost immediately; unlike those of human sentries, vampire senses were only aided by the onset of night. Raziel's mount shifted uneasily beneath him, champing at the bit as it was held to a slow walk and not the battle-charge it expected. This was a lesser beast, not Kafka. The blood bay had been left behind, for much the same reasons that both Kain and Anani had been forced to remain; Rahab and Melchiah would have recognized instantly Raziel's favored mount, and wondered at any lesser vampire who'd dared claim him. Unimpressed by Raziel's logic, Kafka had been about as pleased as Kain and Anani about the whole matter, and far more willing to express it on any hapless creature that attempted to wander by.

The Razielim that they had finally settled upon as his 'honor guard' were arrayed about him on foot, one carrying the white and red banner that marked a Razielim envoy. All of them were able warriors, third and fourth-generation vampires created by Raziel's own direct progeny, but with no real fame or reputation that might make others wonder at the identity of the messenger they served. In addition, none of them knew Raziel's true intentions; if the worst came to pass, they would die--but they would ensure their brethren's survival through their ignorance.

The scrambling activity of the Melchiahim sentries attracted the attention of the nearest unit -- Rahabim, and further proof, were any needed, of the rather empty nature of this particular game of war. There were fourteen riders in this unit, though if past experience was any guide, there would be other warriors nearby -- mages, most likely. The platoon seemed to appear like smoke from the darkness, well-camouflaged in dark armor, mounted on the Rahabim’s customary dark grey, dappled steeds. The Melchiahim, wisely, chose to retreat -- though they would no doubt be bringing reinforcements.

The Rahabim mounts, smallish and lightweight but exceedingly surefooted and agile, wheeled with trained precision. Lancemen lowered their long-barbed weapons, prepared to defend the clearing against an assault until reinforcements could arrive. But it quickly became clear that there was no larger army following upon Raziel’s heels. One of the Rahabim held up a fist, in a silent gesture easily visible from the nearby thickets, and spurred his mount a few steps forward. “Hold. Stand and declare yourself,” the man ordered, his voice clear and sonorous.

Drawing his mount to a standstill, Raziel inclined his head slightly, glancing only briefly at the force that now flanked them. His guard had not drawn weapons, but had done their duty regardless, arraying themselves between their lord and the Rahabim lancers.

"I am Azrael, of the Razielim," he said evenly, holding his head high. "We offer no harm. I request a parlay with your lord and that of the Melchiahim." Raziel held his disguise tight, bending his will upon the Rahabim to see only a lesser Razielim, high-ranking enough to be trusted as an envoy and no more.

A few moments of silence followed, as a flurry of well-shielded Whispers were exchanged. The minds of the Rahabim were deceptively placid, and slipping the illusion into each one’s subconscious was like trying to toss stones into a flooded sinkhole without disturbing the surface of the water. And yet... as had been the case with the handful of vampires of other clans whom Raziel had thus far encountered, the spell was oddly easy to work. It was as if Raziel instinctively understood these Rahabim on a deeper level than he should, almost as if they were blood of his blood, in some indefinable way.

The Guise seemed to hold solid. The Rahabim tilted his head politely. “I am Mica, seventeenth of the Rahabim. You are far astray from your lands, Azrael. What spur drives you to this encampment?”

Raziel allowed a wry, ironic smile to touch his lips. "Our lands ... seem to be quite popular with others at the moment. I speak for a number of the remaining Razielim. We wish to remove ourselves from this conflict entirely. It is for that purpose that I have been sent, to beg your lord's indulgence in this." The whole idea of begging for *anything* from Rahab grated--but Raziel could not let pride stand in the way of the part he had chosen to play. In any case, it was far better he play it in front of Rahab rather than Dumah or Zephon--he did not think he could have brought himself to grovel before them for any reason.

Again there was a pause, this one a little longer. Mica’s talons tightened on his reins, perhaps betraying a certain disquiet. “Am I to understand you seek safe harbor?” he questioned calmly. There were other elder vampires in the cavalry unit too, old enough to have developed clawed hands. Like all Rahabim, they seemed to have slightly short fingers, somewhat broadened palms. Given another millennia or two, they would all evolve completely webbed hands, though for now, the trait was noticeable only if one observed closely.

Raziel shook his head. He understood Mica's concern--even if by some miracle Rahab were to grant the Razielim his protection, it would only bring the wrath of the other Clans down upon the Rahabim as well. Perhaps even Kain's displeasure. No creature casually risked such a thing, not out of sympathy alone.

"Safe passage, not safe harbor," he said evenly. "It poses little risk, and the possibility of great reward. I can say no more than that." He hoped the cryptic nature of his request would intrigue Rahab's curiosity rather than reject it out of hand. Melchiah, especially, could rarely turn down a puzzle ...

The pause was short this time. Mica nodded. “Lord Rahab would see you. Safe passage is granted for the envoy of the Razielim this night.” The words were formal, though there might have been a trace of warmth in the Rahabim’s silvered tone. Mica held up his hand, gesturing once more, and the lancers lifted the tips of their weapons. Just at the limits of hearing, the vegetation in nearby thickets rustled, as if several lithe bodies were stalking quietly through the underbrush. “If you and your guard will accompany us, Azrael?” Mica invited, as his warriors spread out beside and behind the Razielim.

Raziel tilted his head, listening to the other ambushers retreat--then nodded in agreement. "You have my thanks." He lifted the reins and urged his mount forward, trusting in his own guard to fall back and pace them as the group traveled slowly towards the central tent.

Their banner garnered no small amount of stares from both Melachim and Rahabim alike. Raziel's ears could pick out the low susurrus of murmurs that floated in the air in the wake of their arrival, though they were too far away to pick out more than an occasional word. Still, the atmosphere was not actively hostile, or anticipatory. Just ... wary.

Once they had reached the outer guards of the main tent, Raziel drew up his horse and dismounted without being asked. He was here as a petitioner, after all. A certain amount of humility seemed to be in order.

The Rahabim dismounted as did Raziel, a handful of the younger honor guards stationed around the main tent taking the reins of their mounts. A Melchiahim reached for the halter of Raziel’s horse, and the animal spooked briefly, nostrils flared -- horses little beliked the last of the clans, nor the faint scent of old death that clung even to the neonates.

Mica’s leather-booted tread was quiet. “Your entourage may remain here,” he said, “and will keep their arms. Yours will be remitted to you, upon your return.” The statement was obliquely worded and unfailingly polite, but the order for Raziel to surrender his weapons was clear.

Inclining his head, Raziel unbuckled the baldric that held sword and scabbard and offered it silently to the Rahabim. He was hardly unarmed without the blade, after all--losing it meant next to nothing to him. After the sword was taken, he spread his open hands, making it plain that he carried no other weapons other than his natural ones. The minimal amount of clothing and armor that Raziel wore, like most elder vampires, offered little in the way of concealment for any hidden blades.

"My thanks for your courtesy," he said quietly, drawing his power tightly inward like a cloak. He would require every last ounce of his control if he were to succeed in concealing himself from Rahab and Melchiah in such close quarters.

Mica accepted the baldric with care, bowing slightly in acknowledgement, and handed the leather-wrapped weapon to a subordinate. “Please spread your arms,” he requested, and when Raziel had done so, he laid his hands upon the clanlord. The ceremony was, for the most part, a remnant of a time when the clanlords had been far more vulnerable. Little could truly damage any of the Lieutenants now -- though some venoms and magical explosives could still prove very... inconvenient.

The search was respectfully quick, but thorough, Mica’s somewhat oddly-textured talons checking the folds of Raziel’s clan drape -- marked with a single half of the Razielim sigil -- and that nothing was concealed beneath his simple steel pauldrons, gauntlets, or boots.

It was more difficult now, to conceal Raziel’s true visage, with so many eyes upon them. This close to the large, several-chambered tent, the mingled powerfields of the two lesser Lieutenants was a tangible force, and a potential distraction. And then, as Mica reached to run a talon along the waist of Raziel’s breeches, the back of his wrist brushed Raziel’s presently-invisible wings.

Raziel froze, as did Mica. Damnation! He'd forgotten about his wings! Clamping down on his incipient panic, he let no trace of his unease show on his face, only glancing down with an air of assumed discomfort. "It is an old wound," he said evenly. "It has ... not entirely healed."

Which would be a slightly shameful thing to admit under normal circumstances--vampires did *not* admit weakness in front of their enemies! Mica glanced upward in surprise, just for a moment--and Raziel used that distraction, concentrating on the illusion, letting it seep into the deep pool of the elder Rahabim's mind. That was scar tissue underneath those fingers, not bone and membrane--a grievous wound, poorly healed. Nothing more.

Mica paused... and then nodded, just faintly, too concerned with concealing shock and maintaining composure to notice the small scrap of illusion that had been so knowingly slipped into his mind. For an elder vampire to take so long to heal -- who could say what manner of trials this Razielim had undergone after his Lord’s demise? Even the vivisections of the Zephonhim, if survived by an elder, ought not to cause such a.... Mica stepped back. “If you would follow me?” he said, resolutely not acknowledging the scars.

The tent was lit from within by the glow of small magelights, though it was evidently warded against sound, for none could be heard from the interior. Even before Raziel reached the entrance, a handful of scribes filed out, clutching their bundles of scrolls, evidently just dismissed. A pair of heavily armored sentries at the fabric door -- one from each of the two clans -- eyed Raziel warily as he approached; Mica held the flap open for him.

Relieved his gamble had worked--so far--Raziel straightened his shoulders, trying to act as apprehensive as a lesser messenger about to go into the presence of two Lieutenants likely would be. He stepped inward, moving into the tent with silent footsteps as the flap fell shut behind him. Rahab and Melchiah's auras surrounded him almost immediately; heavy, latent power like a thunderstorm hanging in the air, and he had to fight down the urge to release his own power, to meet that challenge and assert his dominance as eldest.

His brothers were much the same as he remembered them. Melchiah was sitting slightly forward in his chair, eyes intent and curious behind the marred skin of his face. He would need a newer skin soon, Raziel noted in passing; the current one was sagging in heavy folds around his brother's neck and limbs, on the edge of decay despite all the preservation magics Melchiah could muster. Rahab, on the other hand ... Rahab blended almost perfectly with the dark shadows of the tent, blue and ivory-white dappled skin made more prominent by the lantern-light. His strong-boned face was still as calm, as vampire-perfect as Raziel remembered it. Unlike Melchiah, Rahab had not moved at Raziel's entrance, his talons laced over his stomach as he leaned backwards and contemplated this new intrusion.

It was ... harder than he thought, facing his brothers again. Guilt and rage and despair roiled uneasily in his gut, and for a moment he almost forgot the role he currently played. Then, catching himself, he sank to one knee, fists to the ground and bowing his head. it was surprisingly difficult. "My lords--I am Azrael, of the Razielim. Please accept my gratitude for this audience."

“Rise,” said Melchiah. His voice was gravelly -- there was vanishingly little that was physically elegant about the youngest of Kain’s brood. His mind was a dense mass of experience and knowledge, sharpened by a keen interest in his surroundings, but there was nothing convoluted or labyrinthine about it. Slipping the illusions into place was as facile as clicking into proper position the pieces of a child’s puzzle. “I must admit, I never expected to hear that a Razielim wished to remove himself from a conflict,” said Melchiah, seeming amused. “You have come a very long way, to an unremarkable stretch of beach and a tumble of ruins old even to myself. For what purpose?”

Rahab’s mind was dark, glassy, shapes and shadows forming and fading, half-sensed beneath the quiet façade. The surface of those depths... rippled, a strange and tidal wrinkling. He neither moved nor seemed affronted by his youngest brother’s presumption in speaking first. Rahab was always one to prefer to wait, and watch.

"What purpose does our fighting serve now?" Raziel said quietly, letting a little of his true sorrow show. "What future could we claim by it? It has become clear that the Empire no longer has a need for the Razielim. So we have come here in order to leave it." He paused there, trying to marshal his arguments and at the same time wrap the spell more tightly about him. Melchiah he was fairly sure he had convinced, but Rahab ... his brother was being his usual inscrutable self, damn him. Carefully, he tried to strengthen that gossamer-thin connection with Rahab's mind, to impress upon it only the image of an anonymous, battle-weary Razielim.

Melchiah arched a drooping brow. “To leave it? There are easier means than walking into a lake, you may be assured.”

The carpets under Raziel’s feet were thick and very soft; this part of the tent had clearly been appointed by the Melchiahim, as was appropriate for the junior of any two brothers whenever they met on neutral territory. Fabric drapes partitioned off other sections. Despite their physical grotesqueness -- or perhaps because of it -- the Melchiahim appreciated their physical amenities: deep, soft fabrics; smoothly polished surfaces; beautifully line-bred slaves; art and fine carvings; all comforts for fragile bodies.

The flux of Rahab’s deep blue mind eased, the surface stilling. It was difficult to determine what conclusion the other lieutenant had reached concerning Azrael’s identity.

Keeping a wary eye upon Rahab, Raziel shook his head. "Not the lake, my lord. The ruins. Our--our lord Raziel--" how strange it was to refer to himself in the second person! "--entrusted to his eldest the truth regarding a secret hidden deep within. I have not been told what it is; only that it is not a weapon, but ... an escape."

Melchiah glanced to Rahab, just briefly, at the mention of the eldest Lieutenant’s name Rahab did not return the look, his cerulean gaze slowly tracing Raziel’s features. Melchiah snorted. “Those ruins have been picked clean by generations of residents -- human and vampire both. And there are few places in all the world that remain unknown to the Empire, if any. Tell me, Azrael, when your search fails and I am left with an army of pariahs upon my doorstep, what, precisely, will you do?”

"There are still places in the world in which the Empire has little interest," Raziel said in answer. "The wastelands to the north, for example. I do not know what my elders intend, but they and I will trust in our lord's words. And if we prove incapable of doing as he commands ..." His eyes narrowed a little. "What assurances do you wish, my lord? Shall the Razielim promise to throw themselves in the lake to spare you the burden of our presence?" Raziel would give that oath, if necessary, knowing that he would never command his clan to follow it. But he wanted to see if his brother would demand it; if Melchiah would condemn his clan to such a foul death for the sake of his own skin.

Melchiah pillowed his droop-skinned forearm on the padded armrest of his chair and set his chin upon his palm, the hint of a smirk upon his warped features.

“As happenstance would have it,” Rahab said, and his voice was sweet, soft. His Rahabim were sirens, one and all. “Melchiah is in poor position to defend his shipyards in Thornwall. And I find myself at present little inclined to come to his aid.”

Melchiah’s expression did not change at this potentially disastrous revelation of military weakness; evidently he and Rahab had thoroughly discussed the matter.

Clever, clever Rahab. And loyal Melchiah, willing to sacrifice such for Raziel's condemned clan ... Raziel felt the icy knot of apprehension in his gut warm at the evidence of his brothers' regard. Still, while he thought he knew what Rahab was implying, the low-ranking Razielim he was pretending to be would not have such an intimate knowledge of his betters.

"...shipyards, my lord?" he echoed, letting a flicker of his hope show.

“Mm. I have been building ships for extended voyage in Thornwall for some little time,” said Melchiah. “Only six are fully outfitted.” He shrugged slightly, perhaps regretfully. Building ships for the purpose of carrying vampires was a slow process indeed -- they had to be extraordinarily seaworthy. Most of the Lieutenants never even bothered with their construction, preferring to march overland, or for campaigns on the far continent, to utilize Rahab’s vessels instead. To build six such ships in a year was a marvel -- though in truth, some of them might well have been Rahab’s to begin with.

Raziel bowed his head. "I am humbled by your foresight, my lord," he said, resisting the urge to add _'-if not by your army'_. Raziel would have said it, and garnered only mild annoyance or amusement--but Melchiah would not accept such a jibe from a lesser vampire. Raising his head once more, he said evenly, "Even with such an ... opportunity, we must still go to the ruins. May I beg your indulgence in this, my lords, for the sake of my lord's commands?"

Melchiah glanced to his brother, then shrugged, faintly. As little as he thought of the Razielim’s present madness -- and they could be both arrogant and mad, the passing years had proved that time and again -- he did not frankly care where they chose to tarry.

Rahab steepled his talons. “You spoke of a payment to my commander, did you not?”

Raziel inclined his head. "Without the Razielim, our lands will be open to any who claim them--as Dumah and Turel have already moved to do. In exchange for your forbearance, my lords, I have been authorized to give you all the knowledge of our clan's territory, that you might claim what you wish. Hidden villages and caches of weapons, secret fortifications and mountain trails ... no doubt you would find some of them, given time. However, we will give this knowledge to you to use as you see fit--all in exchange for this boon."

Melchiah seemed pleased by that. Unlike those of the Turelim, the tastes of his own clan were sometimes not matched by the resources available to them. The finery they preferred did not come without price -- and the Razielim had always received the lion’s share of any spoils.

Rahab, for his part, slowly drew the tips of his talons over the intricately figured, gleaming wood of his own chair, inscrutable. “Offering unto the vultures scraps of flesh... Azrael?” he said, consideringly.

Rahab had always been an oddly obstinate creature. "What else can we offer you, my lord?" Raziel said, suppressing his exasperation and attempting to arrange an appropriate look of supplication upon his face. Was his disguise working at all upon Rahab? Or was his brother simply toying with what he saw as a lesser vampire? "In this, at least, there is nothing that would bring the Master's attention to your clan's good fortune." It was the mildest of warnings--that Kain's attention was not always welcome. Especially when it came to matters regarding the Razielim ....

The tip of Rahab’s talon followed a loose figure-eight, tracing the shape drawn by the grain of the wood upon the armrest. “There are few who would presume to know Kain’s will, most particularly individuals under circumstances such as yours,” he said, even the chastisement made sweet by his silvered voice.

At his side, Melchiah sighed a little. Rahab, he knew, had a point -- while Kain had not ordered the Razielim be spared, neither had he ordered them exterminated and their lands ravaged. The Master’s displeasure might well fall upon any who dared take what had been gifted to His favored son.

On the other hand, Melchiah had, by that reasoning, already committed trespass by securing the border towns. As well to be staked for theft of a slave as for a babe, really.

The corners of Rahab’s mouth turned up, just faintly. “You will speak to Melchiah of what you know -- later. I shall require a boon of a different sort.”

Raziel stiffened. Damnation. Had he unwittingly betrayed himself by invoking Kain's name so casually? He bowed his head, thinking furiously. "What manner of boon do you require, my lord?"

Rahab’s eyes slid to Melchiah. The youngest Lieutenant blinked, startled. Then glowered. But he did not protest. “Matters have arisen which demand my attention,” he said smoothly, and stood. Despite external appearance, he moved with a vampire’s customary ease -- the muscles beneath the skin were his own, and perfectly functional -- albeit with rather more care. It would not do to snag his skin on anything. He paused to grasp Raziel’s pauldron briefly. “Luck to you and yours,” he said simply, and strode towards the tentflap.

His exit left Raziel alone under Rahab’s cerulean gaze. After an indeterminable handful of moments, Rahab stood. Twin to Dumah, no creature could be more different -- Rahab was three fingers shorter even than Raziel. The slightest of the brothers, he was sleek where most of the others were bulky with muscle. But circling Raziel, he seemed like nothing so much as a shark on the hunt.

“Ah, Raziel,” Rahab murmured softly, as if to himself, “always the hubrist.”

Raziel did not think it was possible to stiffen further, but he did. The hairs on his neck raised, and his talons curled--how did Rahab ...?

Uncertainty kept him still, poised on the edge of fight or flight. "... my lord? I do not understand ..." He kept his head bowed, but watched Rahab's slow predatory stalk out of the corner of his eye.

“Play not at incomprehension,” Rahab purred, gaze tracing the scars that wound up Azrael’s spine, before he moved on. “You look just like him.”

Should he drop his guise entirely? If Rahab had penetrated it, there seemed little point. But if he did, the damage to the timestream would go from likely to certain. "I would never presume to try to appear the same as Lord Raziel." Oh, the irony! "I ... am honored, but any resemblance is surely happenstance, my lord."

“Happenstance?” Rahab said, amused. “No. I am certain he sought out the right combination of features for a very long time.” Rahab completed his inspection, and came to stand before Raziel, tilting his head up to regard Kain’s firstborn. Amusement, and a certain desperately nostalgic kind of hunger, flickered over the depths of his mind. “T’would have been easier to simply put a mirror over the bed, one should think,” he murmured.

Raziel blinked. Rahab thought ... he was a *double*? Of himself? For several long minutes he was torn between indignation--did Rahab truly think him *that* vain?--and a terribly inappropriate amusement, and had to fight to keep either from showing on his face.

Just how *would* a double respond in such a situation? Would he continue to deny it? Play the innocent? Or use it as a bargaining chip?

Raziel decided to play it safe. "I am Razielim, my lord. It is not my position to question Lord Raziel's will." Fighting back an inappropriate snicker, he said with careful dignity, "My apologies if my appearance displeases you ..."

“Displeases me?” Rahab echoed. His gaze traced over Azrael’s face, noting all the many similarities and the differences -- though the latter were formed only by the workings of Raziel’s illusion. Perhaps the visage of this plaything should displease him -- it reminded him far too much of what he had lost, of what they all had lost. “No. It does not. Though evidently, the resemblance has displeased others,” said Rahab, only obliquely referring to the jagged scars torn upon the messenger’s back. Rahab tilted his head slightly, and then, imperiously, reached up with startling speed... and laid the palm of his hand upon Raziel’s cheek, his broad, faintly blue-mottled talons spreading lightly against Raziel’s skin, just feeling.

Raziel flinched--not out of fear of pain, but rather the fear that his disguise would not hold. Then he mastered himself as Rahab showed no signs of further recognition, no indignation at being tricked. He could not know for sure what Rahab saw, but he still had to act as if he did. Reminding himself that his part was that of a younger vampire, he lifted his chin minutely, refusing to cringe before Rahab. Those heavy talons on his flesh were dangerous, and familiar ... Rahab had the puissance of an elder, nearly a match to Raziel's own. "...Lord Rahab ..." He was starting to think he knew what manner of boon Rahab had in mind ....

The talons on Raziel’s skin were cool, perhaps faintly tacky, with an odd circular pattern to the gripping surface, rather than the raised chevrons that crossed Raziel’s own hands. They were not so hard as Raziel’s talons... but as Rahab pressed the edge of his thumb over Raziel’s lips, he proved they were still sharp enough to split flesh. Lightly, almost gently, Rahab drew a brief trickle of blood from that thin skin, silencing the Razielim ‘messenger.’ Withdrawing his hand, Rahab brought that dark-blooded smear to his own mouth.

Raziel sucked in a breath, and watched in apprehensive silence. Did the spell extend to taste, as well as to sight and touch? He had never thought to ask Kain ... and now it appeared he would find out. Rahab knew well the taste of his blood--there was almost no possibility he would mistake it for any other.

Rahab paused. “Tell me, Azrael. Shall I demand you, in exchange for my complicity in this errand of yours?” he asked, his voice silvered and sweet, and then delicately lapped the liquid from his hand, savoring the flavor. Remarkably fine, even for a Razielim -- ah yes, this plaything was clearly one of Raziel’s direct creations. Rahab had expected as much.

It was a compliment of a sort, Raziel supposed, that Rahab desired him so, even under his disguise ... but it was a damnably inconvenient one! "I ... would do what is necessary to aid my clan, my lord," he said warily, watching for signs of suspicion, or of Rahab's temper. "But for how long would you require my service?" If Rahab demanded Raziel stay by his side for more than a night or two ... he would either have to refuse, and risk Rahab's wrath, or agree, only to break his oath and vanish when the time came. Neither was a decision he wished to make ....

And unknowable litany of thoughts, consideration, slipped over the deep abyss of Rahab’s mind. His slow smiled bared the tips of his dainty fangs. “That, I think, depends upon how well you have been taught to serve,” he purred. One last long, considering glance, and Rahab turned, stalking towards a set of the drapes that concealed other parts of the tent. “Come,” he ordered simply.

The chamber thus cordoned-off was more simple than the large room, the walls of plain blue. Books were heaped upon every finely-polished wooden surface, none of them relating to border treaties, and a half-finished chess game occupied the center of the largest table -- evidently Melchiah and Rahab had spent far more time here simply amusing themselves, separately or together, than discussing land rights.

Suppressing a growl at Rahab's answer, Raziel followed. What else could he do? If he left, he undid all progress he had made thus far, and risked revealing himself to boot. But if he lingered too long ... while he trusted Anani not to do anything rash, the same could not be said for Kain.

Glancing around the chamber, noting a few familiar personal effects, Raziel said quietly, "My lord ... the Razielim will be waiting for my return, and the answer I bring."

Rahab turned upon him, mercurial as a suddenly violent rain. The younger Lieutenant grasped the clasp of Raziel’s armor and dragged him down with what should have been far superior strength, to snarl into his mouth. “Your answer shall depend upon the art of your persuasion this eve,” he growled. And then, as he might if he had been trying to silence Raziel himself, he sealed his mouth over the messenger’s, slicking his tongue deep.

Raziel could not prevent the growl that rumbled in his throat at such cavalier treatment, but he retained enough presence of mind not to struggle too much and betray his strength. Closing his hands over Rahab's arms, he could not help but respond to the kiss, sliding his tongue against Rahab's own. _Kain,_ he told himself. _Treat him as you would Kain. I am not his elder. Do not cringe--but do not try to overpower._ Even if he did want to clout Rahab upside the head for being so damnably inconvenient in his demands!

Rahab closed his eyes for a long moment. Azrael’s mouth was sweet, warm, his fangs brushing Rahab’s tongue, filling both their mouths with a taste as heavy as brine, a taste that seemed to whisper of secrets and darkness. Raziel had always tasted like the open skies.

Like freedom.

Oh, Raziel. Rahab little wished to pursue that line of thought. He drew back, too suddenly, licking his lips of Azrael’s taste. “Disrobe,” he ordered.

Raziel blinked at the sudden release. Suppressing the urge to bridle at the preemptory order, he inclined his head. "My lord." Starting with his gauntlets, he began to divest himself of his armor. He did not try anything so humiliating as a striptease--just stripped off first one piece of armor, then another, setting them to the floor. Even though he knew the spell still hid his true appearance, his skin prickled as it was bared. He had never felt so ... naked ... before his brother before.

As if entranced, Rahab stepped forward, his palms flattening against Raziel’s chest. “For tonight,” he breathed, “you will address me as Rahab.” He sounded... distracted. The musculature, the conformation of the body, was all very nearly right, and Rahab wondered if Raziel had been forced to employ a Melchiahim surgeon, or if the fledgling had simply been reborn this way. He stroked lightly, reverently, dragging the texture of his fingers down over those dusky nipples. Chest to chest, Rahab lifted his chin, pressing it just gently against the divot above Raziel’s collar bone, as he had so many, many times before. Would it be wrong, for just one night, to imagine that....?

Of course it would. This was not Raziel; never would be. Rahab blinked to clear his vision, and stepped back. “Kneel,” he growled, “and attend me.”

Temper sparked in his eyes, but Raziel did not give into the temptation. He knelt silently, keeping wings tucked so tight to his body they ached, trying not to seethe. How *dare* Rahab use him as--some kind of *toy* for his fantasies! Finding refuge in silence, he slid taloned hands down the outsides of Rahab's leather-clad thighs, trying to lose himself in the famliar scent. Musk and salt, old blood and leather ... this was Rahab, whole and entire, not the monstrous thing he would become. Leaning forward, he laid his lips on the placket covering his brother's confined flesh, mouthing it.

“Oh...” Rahab’s taloned hands found Azrael’s head. But he did not grasp -- as if he had forgotten how, Rahab only stroked, trembling faintly, over the other vampire’s hair. Raziel’s lips found him hard, the laced front of his breeches already straining. The tips of his talons carded through Raziel’s hair, wondering at that perfect softness. “Very good, Azrael,” he managed, at last bringing a clawed hand to the leather laces. A single quick movement cut through the top ones, and the stricture loosened.

"Rahab ..." Raziel breathed against the dampened leather, reminding himself of where he was, who this was. Clever and inscrutable Rahab, who watched when--no. He would not think of that. Not here. Taloned fingers reached upward, eased open the placket of Rahab's heavy leather breeches with delicate care. Freed of its bonds, Rahab's cock was already more than half-erect, hanging thick and flushed and beautiful before him. Raziel leaned forward, gave the tip a considering lick, kissing the head lightly in benediction. Then, feeling Rahab's hands tense, he opened his mouth, wrapping lips about that heavy cock and laving the head with his tongue, mindful of his fangs.

“Oh, yes...” Rahab whispered, as that beautiful, severe, soft mouth closed over him. Oh, and Azrael had been taught well, very well indeed -- knowing just how to kiss, how to flick his tongue, to suckle, to have Rahab fully erect and weeping in little more than moments. So good, so viscerally good -- as rare and fine a treat as those times Raziel had seen fit to grant him this.... Trembling finely, Rahab pushed the thought away. “So good, Azrael,” he encouraged instead, his talons cupping the back of the Razielim’s head, stroking down his neck.

Some of his tension eased as Rahab murmured that false name. The guise still held ... even though it grew harder and harder to concentrate upon the spell. Encouraged, Raziel sank his mouth deeper over Rahab's eager flesh, opening his mouth wide, rubbing fangs lightly upon the shaft that lay heavily on his tongue. Breathing was not necessary--only Rahab's bitter-salt taste, the tensing of his legs under Raziel's hands, the hitch and murmurs of his voice. Backing off slightly, suckling--then sinking downward again, letting Rahab's cock fill his mouth, nudge his throat. If Rahab wanted pleasure from him, then Raziel would ensure that he had all he could take, and more!

Rahab swayed faintly, talons finding Raziel’s shoulder and closing upon it for balance. “Oh,” he gasped, beginning to pant for air he did not need. The long, sleek muscles of his hips and thighs rippled under his tight breeches as he began to thrust helplessly into Raziel’s mouth. Then -- “please,” a whisper, quickly bit off, ending in a high gasp. Rahab’s knees trembled, his body seizing under that so-knowledgeable touch. He watched the severe bow of those lips stretch around his cock. “E... enough!” Rahab managed at last, clawing for control, trying to pull himself free with painful reluctance.

Raziel resisted for a moment, letting a tiny growl vibrate in his throat and through the flesh that filled it, garnering a certain amount of petty revenge in how helpless he could render his brother. Finally he allowed Rahab to push him away, though not without a last lick to that engorged head. Shifting back on his heels, Raziel looked upward at his brother. "My--Rahab?" he said, putting on an air of innocent confusion, licking his lips.

Rahab released a slow, trembling breath. Claws clenching in Raziel’s hair, he went to one knee, tilting his elder brother’s head back -- and sealed his lips over Raziel’s, thrusting his tongue deep, demandingly. Oh, was a lovely little creature his brother had made; so sweetly coy and yet so willing, and so very capable. Their fangs clashed -- Rahab’s were shorter, daintier, though no less sharp. Another kiss, lighter, laid upon Azrael’s mouth. “Attend to my armor,” he breathed, trying to make it sound more order than plea. Rahab stroked his palm down lightly, passing the tacky, gripping texture of his skin lightly over one of those oddly corded scars upon the Razielim’s back. The plaything had paid dearly for his beauty.

Against his will, Raziel tensed as Rahab's hand stroked over his folded wings, skin shivering a little under those talons. Surely Rahab would now discover the truth ... but no. There was no recognition in that face, only lust. Bowing his head in feigned acquiescence, Raziel began working the buckles of Rahab's gorget and pauldrons, deftly removing the heavy armor. It was not the first time he had done so for his brother. While he was the eldest, there had still been times when injury or weariness required he aid his brothers, just as they did him.

Piece by piece, the armor was removed, Raziel skimming his hands over the smooth flesh that lay underneath, re-learning his brother's body with touch as well as sight. The minor cuts made by his talons disappeared almost as soon as they were made, leaving only a lingering bloodscent. Taking Rahab's shoulder-drape, he laid it carefully to the side.

Rahab stretched a bit as that armor came off, relishing the cool air against his skin nearly as much as he did the shallow little cuts of Azrael’s talons. Nude save for his breeches, Rahab’s faint patterning became more evident -- whorls of faint blue dappling his hide. The planes of his stomach were nearly unmarked, as high-white as Raziel’s own skin, but his flanks were dappled, and his back was layered with shades of blue and teal and white, like the choppy surface of the ocean in daylight. Rahab bent his head to kiss and nip at Azrael’s throat, drawing beads of near-black blood, though these were tinted reddish purple to his illusion-clouded perceptions. His claws flexed and gripped rhythmically upon Azrael’s hips. “So sweet...” Rahab murmured, lapping at Raziel’s skin. “I see why he never shared you....” the thought of Raziel and this doppelganger, their limbs entwined, Raziel’s face twisted in that beautiful grimace of pleasure as he thrust, made him tremble.

Raziel let his head fall back, relishing the sharp sting of Rahab's fangs on his throat. He ground himself instinctively against Rahab's body, his own hands dropping the last piece of shoulder-armor unheeded to the floor of tent. "R-Rahab ..." he breathed, bringing up one hand without thinking to fist in his brother's blue-black hair. Rahab's attentions were insidiously effective at making him forget why he was there, the role that he played; forget everything but the feel of those hands, that sharp-fanged mouth on his skin.

This would be the last time, he suddenly realized. The last time he would ever see his brother thus, be allowed to touch him in such a way. The realization stabbed through him, clawing at his heart, making his hand tighten upon that dappled flesh as if Raziel could keep it safe by claiming it as his own ....

“Aah,” Rahab murmured, nuzzling his cheek against the underside of Raziel’s forearm as his hair was fisted. The movement tilted his head, exposing the pale silver-blue of his throat; his cyan eyes drifting shut. Without sight, Azrael’s resemblance to Raziel was more striking still. Rahab’s lips parted on a breath, the nearly the whisper of a name....

Rahab clamped his teeth shut over the sound. His fists clenched, talons cutting into his own palms as he scrabbled for control. “Lay upon the bed. On your back,” he grated, though even that command was made euphonious by his silvered voice.

Jarred by the sudden order, Raziel nearly gave him a snarl of defiance in answer, exasperated with Rahab's mercurial mood ... but caught himself, barely. He loosened his grip, finger by finger. "As you wish," he gritted out, and rose to his feet. _Kain. Pretend it is Kain_. He glanced down at Rahab for just a moment longer, wondering at his brother's sudden anger--then did as he was bid, moving to stretch out naked upon the cushions. Lying on his back pinched his folded wings, and he grimaced a little in discomfort, but made no other protest. Rahab was unlikely to listen in any case.

Rahab tarried only long enough to push his palms down his flanks and thighs, stripping his leather breeches from his skin and stepping out of their confines. His cock was weeping, achingly sensitive, and he did not dare touch himself, even to squeeze and attempt to draw back from the cusp of pleasure. The mere sight of Azrael reclining, laid out, those highborn features twisted with a faint hint of the arrogance Raziel wore as naturally as his own skin.... it was enough to make him weak. Ah, Raziel. Rahab climbed slowly onto the bed, palms and knees indenting the soft, slick cushions he favored. He covered Azrael’s body with his own slighter one, straddling the Razielim’s hips, and bent his head to nip at one dusky nipple, fangs drawing scores alongside as his incisors pinched hard.

Raziel arched upwards, giving a half-gasp at that sharp bite. Rahab's fangs might be more dainty than his own, but they were more than sharp enough to pierce his armored skin, unlike human teeth. Without thinking of Rahab's possible displeasure, he reached upwards, curling hands around neck and back possessively. Rahab was sleek, compact and lithe and perfect ... his memory brought to life, vivid blue eyes gleaming. Raziel's hips lifted instinctively, his rousing flesh already half-hard. "Raha--unh!"

Azrael’s aggression made the resemblance to Raziel more real still, and Rahab found himself little inclined to escape the honeyed trap of that illusion. White talons bit into the patterns of blue upon shadowed blue that crossed his back, drawing fine lines of purple-black, brine-scented blood. Rahab kissed away the blood upon Azrael’s chest, and nuzzled into the Razielim’s throat, and bit there, teasing little nips, even as he tilted his head to expose his own throat in something like supplication. Eyes half-lidded, Rahab stroked down Raziel’s chest, the strange and gripping texture of his talons smoothing over one dusky nipple, then the other. He slid a hand between them, groaning as his wrist brushed his own cock, and closed those talons loosely, carefully, around Azrael’s.

Rahab's unwitting submission eased some of Raziel's disgruntlement at being forced into his brother's bed. Leaning upward, he brushed lips over that throat, the soft flesh on the underside of the jaw, tasting his brother with teeth and tongue--then arched again, gasping, as those taloned fingers closed around his cock. Despite Rahab's care, the tips of his talons dug lightly into sensitive flesh, the grooves of his palm rubbing. Those tiny sharp pinpricks of pain were something Raziel relished, however; the danger made his pleasure all that much sweeter. Letting his head drop backwards, Raziel kept his gaze upon Rahab's face, his hands sliding downward to grip the taut globes of his rear. "Did you ... find what you wanted, Rahab?" he managed to say through gasps, a wry smile touching his lips.

Rahab groaned softly as his own throat was nipped, bitten into, shuddering with the pleasure. The thought of forcing this arrogant Razielim into his proper role... should have occurred to him. And yet it did not. The sounds from his throat were sweet, Rahab all but lost in memory and pleasure both. He pushed his ass back into those longer, more sharply-edged talons. Rahab lifted up that he might look down their bodies and see what he grasped, for his hands were not nearly so sensitive as a human’s anymore. And what he found -- aah, lovely. Rahab was proportionate for his size, to be sure, but Azrael... was every bit as big as Raziel. “I do believe I have,” Rahab gasped, “unless perhaps you have another, Ra-Azrael?” he corrected himself quickly, almost unconsciously, focused more upon stroking lightly upwards than upon his words.

This was as tangled as any of Zephon's webs, Raziel could not help but think, even through a haze of pleasure. Raziel pretending to be a lesser Azrael, Rahab believing he was Azrael but pretending he was Raziel, and both of their bodies recognizing what minds would not .... "N-no," he managed to gasp as Rahab's grip tightened, stroking him to full hardness. "I seem to have ... forgotten my spare ..." His talons dug deeply into the firm flesh of Rahab's ass, purple-black blood welling up around the tips and perfuming the air.

Rahab gasped, pushing back still more, letting his hips drop... enough to wrap both their cocks in his oddly-textured palm, shuddering at the feel of velveteen flesh against his. He’d forgotten... forgotten how close he was to coming. “And to think... I’d believed that you were... were prepared for any eventuality,” Rahab managed -- and then realized what he’d said. Raziel had never been prepared for the events of that oddly-humid, sultry summer afternoon, could never have anticipated the happenings in the heart of the Sanctuary. Rahab certainly had not. Closing his eyes against a sudden wash of... of emotions he could no longer even properly identify, Rahab kissed against Azrael’s chest, to his shoulder -- and then nestled his mouth and nose into the groove above Raziel’s collarbone, as he first had all those nights ago when his entire world consisted of nothing but hunger, and Kain, and the scent of Raziel’s skin.

Raziel could not prevent the pleased purr that rumbled from his throat at Rahab's achingly familiar touch. One hand lifted, stroking through his brother's blue-black mane, letting silken tendrils wind their way through his talons. Despite the urgency of his pleasure, the aching demand of his arousal, to just lie like this--Raziel suddenly wished he had more time. To stay with Rahab, and play at being 'Azrael' for a decade or so ...

But they did not have a decade. How ironic, that immortal vampires should find themselves as pressed for time as any short-lived human .... Raziel pressed his lips to Rahab's temple, closing his eyes for a moment as he arched up into that touch. His cock was as hard as Rahab's own now, both slickened by precome as they slid together, silken skin against roughened palm. Slow, careful strokes ... Raziel suddenly found himself wanting to draw out this time as long as possible.

Rahab was so close -- he needed... needed to move, to grasp Azrael’s hips and luxuriate in the full sweetness of this momentary illusion. His body trembled with need and the effort of restraint, both. The kiss against his temple startled his eyes open. It was so much like... and then Raziel arched up, pressing up into him just a little more firmly, and Rahab was undone. With a low cry, feeling as if he was breaking, Rahab thrust down against that soft skin, and spilled, silvery come splashing against both their bellies.

Feeling Rahab shudder against him, Raziel's eyes opened once more, a little smile touching his lips. "So eager, Rahab ..." he purred, continuing to rub against him, feeling Rahab's cock jerk and tremble as seed smeared between them. His grip on Rahab's hip shifted, the hand moving lower, the back of one talon drawing slowly up the cleft of that taut ass and rubbing against the small opening there with unmistakable intent.

Caught in the midst of his release, muscles spasming finely, Rahab was slow to respond. He could not act -- not with the way Raziel kept pressing up against him, forcing little overstimulated shudders through his body. Growling helplessly, he ducked his head, bit just beneath Raziel’s collar, fangs sinking through skin and armor both, drawing sweet, near-black blood. He needed... needed to reassert himself, but the taste, and the exquisitely practiced skill with which Raziel prolonged his pleasure... he could not think, could only savor this attenuated moment.

Raziel groaned low in his throat as Rahab bit down, arching upwards into the bite, one hand cupping his brother's head. "Ra-hab ..." he murmured, savoring the name. His own pleasure was not so far behind, and it took an effort of will to keep from taking his own climax. Greedy it might be, but he wanted more than a few strokes of a hand, a few bites along the neck. He wanted ... his brother, kneeling and open before him, as his cock sank into resisting flesh ... At that thought, his exploring talon twisted, nudging even further into that opening, stretching it just a little.

“Nnngh,” the sound from Rahab’s throat was part protest, part naked bliss. His ass clenched around the intrusion, against the teasing, relentless pressure. The opening was tight, untried for years -- the vampires to whom Rahab submitted could be counted on an elder’s clawed hand. He set shaking hands upon the slick pillows, tried to push up. Rahab should have been stronger than Azrael by far, but clearly his release had weakened him, for he managed nothing more than a slow, irresolute, writhing struggle -- one which incidentally pushed him back harder into that teasing talon.

"So tight, so sweet ..." Raziel crooned, forgetting the role he was supposed to play in the midst of his pleasure. Taking advantage of Rahab's lassitude, Raziel planted his heels, shifting upward and pushing Rahab over in one smooth motion before the other elder could think to protest. Now on top, Raziel leaned downward to press his mouth against those darkened lips in another fierce, possessive kiss, hands stroking down Rahab's sides and lifting his hips. "So sleek ..." he murmured, dragging his mouth downward, tracing the jut of the chin, the softness of the throat ... and then even lower, to the blue-white dappled skin of Rahab's stomach, adorned with his seed. Raziel traced the taut lines of muscle with his tongue, lapping up the evidence of his brother's pleasure. As salty as the sea, as bitter as tears ... and yet still pleasurable for all of that ....

“Ah!” Rahab twisted in frustrated struggle in Raziel’s grasp, caught as surely as any hooked beast of the sea. Even still, he could not keep himself from returning the deep kiss, nor from tilting his head back as Raziel dragged long eyeteeth over his throat. And then he was held, fascinated, by the sight of Azrael’s dark tongue, the feel of it tracing wetly along his skin, lapping away the spattered seed. “Beautiful -- your mouth, such meticulous symmetry,” Rahab breathed, freeing a hand from beneath the slick cushions, reaching to stroke the backs of his talons lightly over Raziel’s brow, to run fingers through the thickness of his hair. His cock managed an exhausted twitch.

That mouth quirked upward in a knowing smile, Raziel glancing up to meet Rahab's hazed blue gaze. "I am glad it meets with your approval," he said with mock humility, giving Rahab's stomach a sharp nip, just below the belly button. He laved the tiny wound with his tongue as it disappeared, then dipped the tip of his tongue into the indentation of Rahab's navel in exploration, trailing ever further downward. Rahab's cock lay spent and soft between them; Raziel nuzzled it in fascination, letting the musky scent fill his senses and licking up the last traces of his brother's seed.

“Yes...” Rahab hissed, bucking up into the nipping little bite, the penetration of that dark tongue into his navel. His breath caught as Raziel moved lower. Soft like this, the faint patterning of color over Rahab’s organ was visible -- fine little whorls, faintly scale-like visual textures of palest blue and teal, becoming a shade darker and more intricate towards the head. His cock had lost no sensitivity, however, and those teasing little touches, the softness of Raziel’s cheek as he nuzzled against it.... “Oh, yes,” Rahab breathed. His talons opened and clenched, and his hand in Raziel’s hair trembled, just a little, as his achingly-sensitive organ was kissed and licked clean.

Had Rahab evidenced such changes, harbingers of his future evolution, before Raziel's death? Raziel could not remember ... fascinated by the shift in color, he licked a line down the shaft, exploring. Then he shifted his hands, urging Rahab to turn over on his stomach, rewarding him with sharp-edged kisses along hip and thigh. "So fascinating ..." he murmured, his palms moving over that dappled skin. What would Rahab have become, had he remained uncorrupted? There was a line of silvery flesh down his spine, and Raziel leaned down to kiss it, nipping his way downward to where it disappeared between the cheeks of that firm-fleshed rear.

Rahab groaned softly as that clever, lovely mouth lavished attention on his slowly erecting organ. Azrael’s fascination was a familiar thing -- how many of his own fledges had pleaded to touch, to explore? And Kain... when those faint shadows of color had first begun to appear, Kain had kept him for a tenday, simply... with a faint smirk, Rahab turned obediently under the urgings of those talons. His breath shuddered from him as the talons spread out across his back, lightly at first, then more firmly. His skin was every bit as armored as any elder’s, it simply bore a patina that darkened with the passage of time. Rahab drew a hitching gasp, however, as that knowledgeable mouth found the paler strip down his spine, and kissed there, from the nape of his neck and all the way down. Each little bite seemed to spark, hot and bright, pooling at his groin.

The swell of Rahab's buttocks lightened in color, Raziel noticed, turning more ivory silver before darkening again around the points of the hips and the outsides of the thighs. It was--Raziel smirked at the sudden thought--almost as if Rahab's coloration was bent upon advertising the delights to be found in such a location. And who was he to argue with such a determined display? He urged Rahab's legs further apart, even as he licked down into that shadowed cleft, running his tongue along the shallow valley as it deepened, until he found the pursed entrance hidden within. "It is unfair," he said impishly, giving one buttock a sharp bite. "To make one choose between such a magnificent backside versus the delights of your cock ..."

Rahab crooned, the muscles beneath his hide bunching, seeming to set the intricate pattern across his back into motion as he tried to push back into that lovely, agile tongue which made his toes curl and flex into the slick sheets... and growled as that tongue found other amusements. “A cheeky knave, you are,” he grated, failing to keep the amusement from his tone. He should string the stripling up upon tenters’ hooks... he surely would, too, if that fiendish tongue did not return to its prior occupation. Setting his claws into the mattress, Rahab pushed up, nearly to all fours.

Growling low in satisfaction, Raziel gave those tempting buttocks another lick. Then, trailing his tongue down that cleft once more, he probed at that hidden pucker, pushing the tip inside, tasting the salty musk of that skin. It seemed only right that Rahab be on his knees before him, open and waiting. Taking advantage of his new position, Raziel caressed that little clenched muscle, licking it lovingly, probing, and then withdrawing, his hands hard upon Rahab's hips as his brother bucked into the teasing touches.

Rahab snarled a little, pushing back demandingly until that surprisingly soft mouth, his breath hissing between his teeth. The teasing was pure torture -- how he longed to twist around, seize the Razielim and roll him over, bury him beneath Rahab’s own dark tide.... but then that tongue entered, just a little, and that fragment of thought was scattered upon the chaotic breeze. “R-Azrael,” Rahab bit off the betraying sound, his body twisting against Raziel’s grip in a slow, hitching struggle.

Relishing those cries, that almost-confession, Raziel wished he dared command Rahab to call out his name. To hear his brother's pleas .... He twisted his tongue further in as the pucker loosened, feeling every shift and twitch of skin, every clench of sensation. Mindful of his talons, he smoothed a hand up one thigh and cupped those soft balls, rolling them gently in his palm. Such service, had he truly been a lesser vampire, would have been seen as abject submission to the needs of his lord. Yet Raziel found no submission in this act--not with Rahab's most fragile flesh in his palm and under his tongue, his breathless cries ringing in the air.

The carefully cupping pressure made Rahab’s whole body seize, clench down -- not out of fear, but rather driven by the blind bolt of sensation. The hard, chevron-textured surface of Raziel’s talons pricked at the thin, fragile skin, made him exhale, shuddering with the knife-edged pleasure. His struggles stilled -- for how could he think to move, with such a pleasurable dual assault being made upon his flesh? Rahab’s thighs trembled under Raziel’s palm, as if he verged on the edge of collapsing, with each thick pulse of Raziel’s tongue. Every entrance wrenched a low cry from him, sweet, abandoned, the sound seemed to hang golden in the air. Each withdrawal left him achingly empty. The tip of Raziel’s tongue slicked over a firmer node of tissue, deep inside, and Rahab choked on a gasp -- “Please!”

Raziel's lips curved in a smile against soft flesh. He withdrew, and kissed the hollow of Rahab's back, feeling those hips writhe in need. "Is this truly all you want, Rahab," he murmured wickedly. "Is my tongue enough to satisfy your hunger, you think?" And he brought himself upward, fitting their hips together so his aching and neglected cock rubbed teasingly against that wetted cleft.

Rahab’s instinctive hiss, as that hard shaft pressed teasingly against him, was slow in coming. One of Raziel’s hands yet palmed his cock and balls, and the sweetly scraping feel of those ridges, paired with the nudging pressure against his taut little opening... oh, yes, he needed more. But the hiss emerged regardless, a rattling sound, effective warning in the company of younger or lesser vampires. He could well lose control of the situation, and very rapidly.... would it matter? Trying to summon the control to string two thoughts together coherently, Rahab bent his head, panting for air he did not need. The motion exposed the nape of his neck.

Hazed by his own need, Raziel did not heed the warning as a lesser creature should have. Instead he pressed himself closer, skin to skin, until he could lay lips against his brother's neck, thrusting a little

"I will do nothing you do not want, Rahab," he murmured, closing his eyes. He owed his brother that, at least. "Tell me what you need from me ..." In the future to come, he would reft Rahab's soul, his power, from him, all in the name of vengeance. He could not prevent his future-self's actions, or the necessity of them--but he could still regret them. His hand tightened lightly upon Rahab's flesh, caressing, feeling those balls tighten ... and then he bit down, nipping at that bared and vulnerable nape.

Rahab growled, his compact, sleek body twisting under Raziel’s, as if regardless of the careful grip on his genitals he might well turn and enforce his will, roll Azrael over, take him hard.... and then those teeth closed upon the nape of his neck. The feel of the bite was so much like Raziel’s -- the shallow entry of fangs, the measured pain and the sudden, shocking pleasure. The incandescent darkness above and around him was almost perfect mimicry. Shuddering, pushing back into that hard organ, Rahab cried out, brokenly. “Please, ah Raziel -- please!”

 _Yes ..._ Raziel dared Whisper that, just once. He kissed that bowed neck once more--then shifted backwards, setting the head of his aching cock against wetted, tight little opening. "Rahab ..." he murmured, and pressed forward, feeling the muscles tighten against his entrance. Slicked only by saliva, stretched only with his tongue, Rahab's body was far from adequately prepared--but Raziel was not about to risk giving his brother time for second thoughts in order to summon some oil. They both knew this, knew pain--it was as familiar to them as the pleasure, and in a way just as reassuring. His aching cock slipped inside the tight clasp of Rahab's body--first the head, then more, an inch at a time. Growling in pleasure, Raziel stroked that bowed back as he sank himself home in Rahab's flesh.

Rahab fell still at that abrupt pressure, the achingly tight stretch as the blunt head of Raziel’s cock began to split him open. It seemed too much, far too big, and Rahab could not prevent his body clenching against it. But the penetration was implacable, and resistance only worsened it. Then the head sank inside, and then more, painful, blindingly pleasurable. Rahab’s shaking arms suddenly refused to support him -- he collapsed with a low groan, his hips supported by Raziel’s taloned hand, and that unending impalement. It felt impossibly deep, parting that clenched passage, painfully satisfying. And then Raziel was buried to the hilt. Rahab lay still for a second, no more -- and then his body erupted in muscular struggle, twisting against Raziel’s grasp, pushing back, snarling, his talons ripping deep into the mattress beneath.

Raziel's growl deepened, his hand slipping away from the tender flesh of Rahab's groin to grip hard on his hips as the other vampire bucked against him. Refusing to release his prize, Raziel shuddered in helpless ecstasy as Rahab's struggles clamped down on his cock, muscles rippling and clenching around his aching flesh. "Take it, Rahab," he growled, unable to care if he betrayed himself. "Take all of me ..." He withdrew minutely, and then surged forward, driving Rahab roughly into the pillows, his caresses drawing ribbons of blood down that dappled flesh.

Rahab’s cry this time was sharp, wild, bereft of any soft or human guise. He twisted, trying to bite into Raziel’s forearm, and then that thrust ground him down into the bedding. Oh, so painfully good -- “Raziel!” Rahab gasped, and bit into a pillow, even as his body continued to writhe in his brother’s grasp, as his hips jerked in frustrated escape, managing only to push him back harder into that impalement. Pinned, forced open, Rahab panted helplessly, his claws tearing through satin and feathers. The blood dripping from his hide smelled as vast and deep as the sea itself, warmed beneath the heat of the rising sun.

"So good ... unh!" Raziel could barely put one thought after another, much less words, and soon gave up the effort entirely. Withdrawing, he pounded deep again and again, setting up a punishing rhythm as Rahab's ass loosened, slickened with precome and blood, accepting his impalement. He was too close to hold back for long; only his need to draw this out, feel Rahab in the throes of orgasm once more, kept him trying to hold back his own impending orgasm with a ragged effort of will.

Angling himself, he did his best to push Rahab even closer to the edge, letting the head of his cock rub hard against Rahab's prostate with each downward stroke. Every thrust brought a thrill of sensation down his spine, pleasure coiling hot low in his belly--but it wasn't enough. Still not satisfied, he reached down and wrapped his palm around his brother's neglected erection, stroking it roughly, his own need making him clumsy enough that talon-tips pricked the fragile skin.

Rahab roared, bucking up, thrashing against the cage of Raziel’s body. His muscles seized and jerked with every pass of the ridges of Raziel’s talons, each one catching at his flesh, ratcheting sensation beyond the fragile declinations of pain or pleasure. His vision sheeted white; Rahab felt as if he were falling, or perhaps burning in the black heat of the darksome being mounting him. And as the edges and tips of Raziel’s talons drew tiny, swift-healing lines of blood upon his tender flesh, with a hard, wrenched cry -- “Raziel!” -- Rahab came. His body clenched down with strength far beyond a human’s, or even an elder vampire’s, muscles rippling.

"Nnh!" Rahab's body clamped down on him like a velvet vise, and Raziel couldn't hold on any longer. One last hard stroke, two, and he came with a guttural cry, Rahab's climax seeming to pull his own out of him in one painful, exquisite tidal surge. Raziel felt his brother's aura swell, vast and fathomless, and sank gratefully into it as the sensations blinded him to everything but the body underneath him, around him, clenching again and again on his cock as he filled Rahab with his seed. Driven by instinct and afraid of what he might say, Raziel curled around the other vampire, and bit down hard on the juncture of shoulder and neck, burying his fangs deep into corded muscle and letting his brother's blood spurt over his tongue.

Slowly, bonelessly, Rahab collapsed, dragging Raziel down with him. Come and blood slicked his belly and Raziel’s hand both. Feathers and shreds of blue satin fluffed up around them, and for a time, there was no other movement. Rahab’s senses had scattered to the winds -- even still, his body occasionally clenched around Raziel’s cock in little aftershocks of pleasure. His blood was thick, nearly as black as Raziel’s own, seeping into his elder brother’s mouth in slow swallows. Dazed and thoroughly exhausted, Rahab had to try several times to summon the strength and the will to turn his head, just enough to brush his cheek against Raziel’s forehead. “’ziel...” he murmured, breath stirring the white down that clung to them both.

Raziel curled himself tightly around Rahab's smaller form, one hand splayed possessively over his brother's stomach. He could still feel the fine shivering of his skin in the aftermath of his climax, so sensitized that every waft of air, every light touch of feathers was a new spark of pleasure. He did not release his bite right away--keeping the wound open by nursing on Rahab's flesh, every slow swallow letting him feel the spark of his brother's power, kin to his own. Finally, though, the wound sealed over. Releasing his bite, Raziel kissed the spot, and tucked his head into the crook of Rahab's neck. "Rahab ..." he said softly. _Rahab ... my brother. I am sorry ..._ He dared not Whisper it, could only speak the words in the silence of his own mind.

Rahab did not seem to need anything more than that. Adrift on the lingering sensation, comfortably half-pinned between the ruined sheets and Raziel’s weight, he cared only to summon the strength for a small chuff of breath against his elder brother’s temple, and to curve his talons between Raziel’s were they spread under his belly. The scent, the deep nimbus of aura, the thick cock softening within him, the very feel of Azrael’s skin and the architecture of the bones beneath -- all served to enhance the illusion. It was self-deceit of the grandest magnitude, but for that handful of timeless moments, Rahab could not bring himself to care.

Left limp by both pleasure and the constant tension of maintaining his disguise, Raziel let lethargy claim him, weighing his limbs down. If his Razielim were not waiting .... How simple it would be, to stay with his brother like this, even under a name that was not his own? His talons tightened incrementally on Rahab's flesh at the thought, caressing it, as he let himself sink into the fantasy that he was not Raziel, with a circular destiny and the Reaver waiting for him. That he was ... whatever Rahab needed him to be.

It was a sweet illusion. Pressing his lips to Rahab's neck, drinking in the salty scent of his skin, Raziel let himself believe it, just for a few moments.

It could not last. A soft rustling from the main part of the tent, and the presence of lesser auras, indicated the entry of more scribes going about their business of forging a false and hollow peace. Rahab drew a breath, the entwined talons prickling against his skin. The scent of sex and blood hung in the air, ample evidence of what matters Rahab had discussed with the Razielim ‘messenger’. Were it discovered that Rahab had not only taken Azrael to bed, but had laid beneath him as well, that he had let himself be taken by....

Kain would almost certainly know of this.

Rahab’s muscles twitched, his eyes slit open. He dragged his talons from between Raziel’s, twisting to press his palms against the ruined bedding. From his throat rose a warning hiss -- albeit a very quiet one. Damnation.

Distracted and lethargic, Raziel did not react immediately to the stiffening of Rahab's body and the warning sound. A few seconds passed--and then Raziel's eyes blinked open again, the barest rumble of a warning growl beginning low in his throat--before he remembered, and choked it off. A lesser Razielim would *not* growl at a Lieutenant! Damnation .... Raziel released his hold on Rahab reluctantly, withdrawing from his brother's warmth and allowing him space. Watching him warily, Raziel wondered what Rahab would do in reaction to having been tumbled by a 'lesser' vampire. Even if he *had* given his consent.

Despite his aggravation, Rahab shuddered finely as Azrael withdrew. Then he was up and moving, twisting to his side and slithering lithely from the bed. Lines of black blood streaked his skin; his belly and the insides of his thighs were wet in places with splashes of silver-tinted semen. The dappled patterns across his skin were flushed faintly in the aftermath of pleasure, muted lilac mingling with the blue and teal. His back to Azrael and the... evidence of the past hour, Rahab reached for a plain, gray-blue robe and shrugged it on. Despite his attempts to exercise the caution required of a taloned elder, his claws caught upon the silk, tearing the fragile fabric in places. “Out,” he ordered, quietly.

It was difficult to miss the signs of Rahab's temper, no matter how muted. Bristling a little in spite of himself at being dismissed so cavalierly, Raziel nonetheless did as he was bid, rising from the bed and going over to the pile of his clothing. Once there, he pulled on breeches and greaves first, before straightening, shouldercape in hand, to confront his brother.

"... what answer do I take back to my clan, my lord?" It was difficult, but Raziel kept his voice even, with no trace of the regret or frustration that was rapidly chasing away the last remnants of his pleasure.

Snarling, Rahab turned. It was a mistake -- Azrael was so very nearly perfect. The high cheekbones, the musculature of his bared chest and belly, that beautiful mouth, all of it made longing clench hard in the pit of Rahab’s stomach. It would have been so sweet to imagine this a second chance, a way to play at absolvement for his own inaction on that momentous summer evening a year ago.

But the clan drape in Azrael’s hand bore not the paired sigils that Raziel wore. It was easier to focus upon that. Azrael had paid for his passage; he should have it. “The Rahabim will not bar your travels, for the time being.” Even still, Rahab could not prevent his gaze from slipping back to Azrael’s face, just drinking in the sight... Rahab wrenched his eyes away, perhaps before the yearning could show on his features. “Now get out.”

If Rahab had not looked away, perhaps he would have seen regret plain upon Raziel's face as well--if only for just a moment. This parting was better than their last--but he still wished he could entrust his brother with the truth. Instead he bowed, letting his hair drop over his face and hide it from sight.

"You have my eternal gratitude, my lord. Thank you ... for your forebearance." Gathering up the last pieces of his armor, he turned to leave the tent. Knowing it was foolish, he still could not prevent reaching out one last time. Not a true Whisper, barely even a name--just the lightest ghostly brush against the surface of his brother's mind.

_Rahab ..._


End file.
